


The Making of A Modern Vampire or How Bucky Barnes founded the Mysterious Sippers Society despite being punched in the face by Captain America

by Blue Rose (Grovehove)



Series: Vampire Stories [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Blood sucking revenge deaths, Bucky Barnes is a little shit, Captain America is a potty mouth but so is Bucky Barnes, Coitus interruptus by Bucky Barnes because he's a manipulative little shit, M/M, Major character death because Bucky becomes a Vampire, Mocking the preconceptions about Captain America, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Slurs, Pre Slash Steve and Sam, Pre-slash Tony and Bucky, Swearing, Vampire Soulmates, Vampire Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 14:49:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9906755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grovehove/pseuds/Blue%20Rose
Summary: So Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes had patriotically joined the war effort, done his initial basic training, shot the shit out of targets with his Snipers rifle,  got deployed to Europe to fight them nasty Nazis, jumped out of a plane with a faulty chute, bounced down a mountain side with no brakes and ended up with a post life addiction to blood, a Purple Heart and finally disowned from his own family because according to the Church he didn’t have a soul any more.Of course the fact that he got regularly laid by Captain America the Virgin was icing on his damn cake.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've warned for character death and graphic depictions of violence. To be honest both may be overkill because Buck has to die to become a Vampire and its a Vampire fic so there will be violence but the thought of blood makes me ill so don't be too scared... ;)

“Bucky” Steve snarled his name. “On your feet” The inherent and forceful compulsion brought the Soldier out of sleep like nothing else ever could. His Sire was pissed. Again.  
Bucky opened one eye, his expression unimpressed. This was getting to be a bad habit.

“We are going to be late to the fucking clinic and we’ll get bumped down the fucking list. If I have to listen to Coulson’s lecture on the importance of not upsetting the delicate volunteers sensibilities one more time I will use your metal arm to beat you to death you lazy punk. I want these assessments completed. We’ve got lectures on Friday”

Bucky rolled his eyes. Admittedly Steve had his back turned to dig out his ID from the mound of detritus on the clothes chest but Bucky would have rolled his eyes at him even if he could see him do it.    
His Sire had been a complete pain in the ass lately, because of one little human. Well not so little, he was nearly as tall as Stevie but he had the lithe build of a runner not the kind of muscular bulk that made Stevie the dominant Vampire and Leader of the New York Kiss.  
Bucky preferred the collective noun Nest for a group of Vampires but Stevie was an old fashioned Romantic bless his blue, red and white socks and he refused to countenance the new-fangled term.

 “We aren’t fucking birds Buck, we don’t have fucking feathers and despite popular opinion because of that damn book, we can’t fucking fly so we are not part of a goddamn Nest”. The big lug would grump over his morning coffee or afternoon coffee or snack blood bag. In fact he would just grump every time Bucky used the word nest. If Bucky used said word quite often, on purpose to hear the swear words drip from that perfect wholesome mouth, then that was between him and his own conscience. Shame he didn’t have one really.  
Who would have believed that Captain America was such a potty mouth? Buck’s Ma would have washed that naughty tongue with soap and smacked his smart ass for him.  
   
Buck eyed said smart ass appreciatively. He’d be happy to pay it some attention. He could think of all kinds of attention to give it but Stevie was on a roll this morning so he stretched instead and prepared to leave his delightfully comfortable bed. If they were doing this damn assessment, no way in Hell was he allowing his Sire to attend the Clinic in fucking flannel. One day he was gonna get Nat and Clint to sit on the guy and burn those awful shirts in front of him. Flannel! Flannel? Why Stevie why? He was the Leader of the New York Kiss. Sartorial elegance was a must.

The sneaky little shit tried to say he wanted to blend in with the Student body. Yeah right Rogers where on any campus that wasn’t situated in the wilds of Antarctica would you find any self-respecting student wearing flannel? Even then they were more likely to wear modern thermal heat enhancing body skimming materials.  
It needed repeating, Steven Grant Rogers should not be allowed to wear flannel when he was the Leader of the Kiss.  
  
Even after all the centuries Cap had been alive he still thought of the bite as a kiss. Bucky was pretty sure the Cap Man had never killed while he was feeding (in peace time at least, in War Stevie used any and every strategic advantage with a beautiful cold ruthlessness that could still send shivers of desire through his nearly useless veins and turn the Soldier on. Meh kinks! The name blood sucker wasn’t just a literal description)  
  
And now  here they were, back in New York, having left the war zones and active duty so that Stevie could encourage the Kiss to undertake more “normal” pursuits like going to University, running the city, keeping the peace and working for the good of both Vamps and Humans. Sometimes Bucky wondered where his Sire got his energy from. Oh yeah all that blood sucking… right.  
   
Stevie had enrolled for an Art degree. The confident leader of the Warriors of a War Kiss had become almost shy when he had mentioned his long held desire to create Art.  The big Guy had been so cute that Bucky had pinched his pale cheeks. It had only taken three days to wake up after that particular Rogers punch to the head.  
  
Bucky had agreed to the whole Student experience thing, he was interested enough to want to do it for himself too. He hadn’t had a chance for much more than basic education when he had been breathing. He had selected an Engineering degree. He adored pulling things apart, putting them together again and making things explode. But he fucking drew the line at flannel shirts!  
  
They were going to do this Student lark properly. They roomed together. Well okay they had roomed together since Rogers had given him the kiss, of course there were those years when he was in the clutches of Hydra and poor Stevie was going insane trying to find him but they didn’t count. So rooming together was a thing again.  
   
Admittedly their rooms were a penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park with enough space for the rest of the Howling Commandos to comfortably stay if they wanted to. They were an established War Kiss for fucks sake. They might rough it in times of perilous danger but they had made plenty of money over the centuries. They made enough sacrifices on the battle field. No way were they doing without running water and luxury modern conveniences. Stevie also had his position as the leader of the New York Kiss to uphold, and as Bucky was his second that meant him too.  
  
Any perception of loss of Status would have the challengers crawling out of their coffins.  No really some of these non-mouth breathers actually slept in fucking coffins. Bram Stoker fucking had a lot to answer for. Though anyone who thought they could challenge Captain Steven Grant Rogers (even if the jerk had developed a need for Flannel!), and stand a chance of beating him must be mentally defective.  
Not that Bucky would allow them to get within non breathing space of Stevie. He would just remove their spines in public. See how far the stupid fuckers could get then. Strange how the sight of a back bone being waved under the nose of anyone dumb enough to support a challenger kept the peace in the Vampire Community for a good twenty years or more.

But a part of the keeping the peace in the Human and Vampire communities was Stevie’s god damn determination to blend in with the Humans. So that meant sitting on the newly formed scrutiny board for the newly formed blood clinics, assessing the newly formed procedures, the newly appointed staff and the new human volunteers.  
Bucky would have shot himself in the head through boredom, seriously one straight in the brain no ifs or buts, even if Stevie was in his element.  
   
But for Bucky there was one redeeming feature to the boring bureaucracy. It also meant attending the clinics as “mystery sippers”. It wasn’t the free blood that made him smile. It was Stevie’s delicious reaction when Buck had coined the phrase and used it, often. Buck had no idea why Stevie got angry at that term, he thought it was rather apt. They did sip, well to be honest sometimes Steven Grant Rogers tended to slurp rather than sip when he got too enthusiastic. Was he raised in a barn? Hmm three centuries young… probably yes bless him.  
  
They were undercover to assess the clinic’s performance. No one doubted the integrity of the leader of the New York Kiss. No one or Bucky rearranged their facial features with extreme prejudice. So he and Stevie had to perform the assessments.  
When Bucky had offered “Secret Slurpers” instead of “Mystery Sippers” Stevie had punched him.  
Not as bad as the pinched cheeks punch but seriously Bucky was gonna enrol the bugger on an anger management course.  
  
But now his cool calm and collected Sire was flapping like a sheet in the wind because his Stevie was fixated on a human “Volunteer”.  
What the hell was his name? Stan, Bran, Bam-Bam no it was Sam. How in hell had he forgotten it was Sam? He had heard that damn name dropping from those sculptured lips for so long, he was sure the world would be on the brink of a Zombie apocalypse if it suddenly stopped (Ha Zombies, now that was fucking funny. He and Clint roared with laughter every time they saw that show “The Walking Dead”. Zombies being portrayed as dangerous to a group of Humans sure, but a human group led by a kick ass Vampire? Funniest thing on TV)  
  
Sam Wilson. Sammy, Samuel, Sam the main man. Sam the goddamn subject of every god damn conversation with Stevie lately.  
His blonde haired blue eyed All American Vampire Sire had not stopped talking about the guy for fucking weeks. Weeks! Every bloody conversation was somehow turned to the human.  
  
“Hey Steve the games on”  
“D’ya think Sam likes Baseball Buck? I could get us some tickets”  
  
“Hey Steve, need to take the motorbike to the Garage”  
“D’ya think Sam likes motorbikes Buck? I could take him for a ride”.  
  
At least the big jerk had the decency to blush at that one when Bucky had laughed his blood sucking ass off and fallen off the sofa. Buck had just managed to avoid Steve’s boot to the nuts when he had figured out exactly why Bucky was laughing. Seriously Steven Grant, anger management course!  
  
For a big bad centuries old Vampire Sire Stevie could be awfully naïve sometimes. Part of his adorable yet frustrating charm. Course it made it easier to wind the jerk up. Especially when Buck had finally snapped on the subject of Stevie’s cute human crush.  
  
“Hey Steve, do you like my new pink frilly dress?”  
“D’ya think Sam likes pink frilly dre.... James Buchanan Barnes you little bastard come ‘ere”  
  
 Buck had slept on Clint’s pull out that night. He knew better than to stay in the same apartment when he had really pissed Steve off. It had been worth it though for the look on the jerk’s face. But now he couldn’t get rid of the image of one Sam Wilson in a pink frilly dress… hmmm.  
  
Clint had banned him after the one night. Unreasonable bastard. Barton was a freaking werewolf.  
He succumbed to his own wolfiness often enough (Budapest ring any bells Clinton Francis?) so why blame Bucky for something he couldn’t help.  
Just because he had tried to take a drop or too of blood from Lucky, Clint’s damn unlucky dog. He had been half asleep for Christ’s sake. Clint knew better than to allow something with a heartbeat near him when he was waking up. He’d been conditioned for the love of God. Conditioned! What did Clint think the word meant? The dumbass had been there with Steve when they rescued him from Hydra’s clutches.  
  
Fucking Hydra fucking assholes and their so called fucking Blood Temperance Movement had sucked him in like a perfect patsy. Sometimes he thought it was more the humiliation of falling for their con than the actual many years long killing spree that kept him awake at night.  
Not something he shared with Stevie, but for fuck sake he was a Vampire. Killing was kinda what Vamps did, especially before the introduction of the blood clinics.  Not every blood sucker on the planet had Stevie’s stubborn moral backbone and even Steven Grant Rogers had his own “moments” when he slipped. Remember that pub in War time London when the customers had turned on Peggy Carter, so beautifully human in her red silk dress, huh Stevie huh?  
  
Yeah, embarrassed humiliation that he had been dumb enough to fall for their act was the main reason there were nights that Bucky just sat and stared up at the stars. It wasn’t the sounds of the screams of the whole villages where he had been ordered to wipe them out. It wasn’t the memory of a blood soaked teddy bear staining the crisp white snow whilst only the crackle of the fires catching hold on the ruined buildings broke the silence.  
Nope it was embarrassment and that’s what he told every god damn Counsellor, head Doctor or Shrink Stevie made him see.  
  
But back then Bucky had been desperate. Utterly desperate. Desperate to believe it was a chance for him to get to see his Ma one last time.  
His Ma didn’t have long left. She had started to waste away. Buck knew that now she would have had a fighting chance with modern medicine but in those days, it wasn’t available even if she could have afforded it.  He had tried to see her but the local Parish Priest had convinced her that Bucky had sold his soul to the Devil and he and his flock had guarded his Ma like Fort Knox with fire and holy water and loud ass praying.  
   
James Buchanan Barnes had loved his family deeply. Not being able to see his Ma had nearly destroyed him. He was still fairly new to his undead state and his Sire who could have calmed him down and come up with a much better plan than Bucky’s knee jerk reaction was still in the theatre of war overseas, Stevie had sent him home once they had found out about Mrs Barnes.  
   
The cover story was that he had survived the fall and been captured so that no one knew he was still alive. He had been rescued by the Howling Commandos and because of their secret missions deep in enemy territory the paperwork had never been forwarded to notify his next of kin. It should have worked, it was one of Stevie’s plans. Stevie’s plans had a 99.9% success rate.  
  
It would have worked if Bucky hadn’t found his darling baby sister Rebecca being attacked by a gang of youths in broad daylight at the start of an alley where other humans were just hurrying passed so not to get involved. The fact that not one of the gang lived to regret it and there were body pieces flung high enough onto the buildings fire escape that they dripped gruesomely onto the passers below sort of made a mockery of Stevie’s plan really.

Becky didn’t care. She was just happy to have a big brother back. And happy the bastards who attacked her were destroyed.  
But the good people who hadn’t wanted to interfere with a gang of rowdies had managed to spread the news of Bucky’s devil like abilities and suddenly he was being pelted with holy water, bibles and silver crosses were being flashed in his face.  
   
The holy water pissed him off because he only had two changes of clothes and he didn’t want to drip water into his Ma’s living room. The bibles hurt when they connected with his body because those books were heavy and bulky and the silver crosses? For fuck’s sake he should have just yanked them from the idiots hands and made said idiots eat them.  
   
But unless he wanted to slaughter wholesale what was coming up to the entire blocks worth of rabid religious torch bearing nut jobs he had no choice but to back off. Personally he would have been happy to tear those idiots a new asshole as well but first he didn’t want to traumatise Becky anymore and secondly he couldn’t face Stevie’s disappointed expression at the public fall out.  
  
(Once he had forgotten to fuel the motorcycle! Once for Pete’s sake and the Guy had him nearly crying with shame after one god damn pointed look.)  
  
He blew a kiss to his baby sister and took off faster than they could see him. The hymn singing was seriously getting creepy and worse, out of tune.

Not getting to see his Ma, his little sisters being hidden away from him and the whole “burn the evil creature at the stake” rioting mob plot line must have weakened his brain. Because that’s the only way he could justify to himself his fucking mental aberration in trusting Pastor Armin Zola and his band of Hydra lunatics.

He remembered nothing after he drank the stinky brew Zola had passed to him with a sympathetic smile until he opened his eyes and saw his Sire crying tears of blood above him.  
He raised his hand to touch Stevie’s face and his non beating heart nearly had an actual fucking honest to Jesus attack when he saw the metal monstrosity that was attached to his shoulder.

Ten years and one arm they had stolen from him. Ten years when he had become their Winter Soldier, bringing the cold purification of death to those who rejected Hydra’s teachings. Ten years as Red Skull’s pet assassin with no memory of his previous life. Ten years when they had removed his arm and given him a silver one as a mark of his allegiance to the cause and to strike terror into their enemies.

Hello… goddamn Vampire you morons, the sight of his fangs normally made people piss themselves, why the fuck would they need a metal arm to frighten anyone? Aaaargh.

His Ma was long dead. His sisters married with their own families. His Sire had handed over the leadership of the Howling Commandos to Duggan whilst he searched for his only Vampire child, seemingly he had adopted his own werewolf who used a bow and arrow and liked to spy high in the sky and they both spent their time tracking down reports of the nightmarish Winter Soldier. Hydra’s Weapon.  
  
Stevie and the lunatic risk taking dog boy Clint Barton finally had a break when they were joined by a red haired vicious human female assassin who had her own grudge to settle with Johan Schmitt and they stormed the fortified castle in Germany where they had stored the Soldier in a cellar. Natasha to this day still hadn’t explained why she was after the Red Skull but the sight of the detached bare skull of said Red Skull decorating the hood of the car as they drove away from the destroyed castle was very satisfying.

He woke to his Sire’s call and the blood lust nearly turned him inside out. Whatever the so called temperance movement had done to him, he hadn’t lost that need. He could hear the beat of a human heart and he was only restrained because of his Sire. He stared at the red haired woman and his fangs dropped. His Sire was calling to him but he could only hear the steady beat of her pulse, could smell the tang of her blood as it moved through her small body.

Her accent was foreign but he understood her words, and the vengeful smirk on her lips “Calm yourself Soldier, I have a treat for you.” The door flung open and in stalked the Werewolf dragging another human. This one shrieking and threshing against the strength of the Wolf.  
Smug satisfaction erased the fear in his sweat when the bald be speckled smaller human saw him.  
  
“Obey me Winter” the little rat ordered with utter confidence. The Soldier stared at him without blinking and his Sire released him.  Zola stopped smirking only when the Soldiers fangs bit into his throat but he made sure that the human felt every drop of his blood leave his own body until his heart stopped. The human’s blood wasn’t enough and he swung his head towards the female ignoring the sound of an arrow being notched. It was Stevie’s voice that broke through the thrumming of her heartbeat.

“Bucky” his Sire spoke calmly “you need more blood. There are a whole roomful of the bastards who did this to you next door. Have fun” The Soldier’s intense gaze looked up and met beautiful smiling sky blue eyes, he smiled for the first time in ten years “Doll you sure are sight for sore eyes”.

The first words he had ever said to his Angel made the big lug tear up whilst he gallantly opened the door for Bucky to step through. Always a gentleman Steven Grant Rogers.  
  
Of course this had happened way back when, during and just after the war, before the great reveal in the late sixties when Humans and Vamps finally worked out their differences ( mainly because the Humans were too loved up and stoned to actually care) and SHIELD was set up to monitor and promote Human slash Vampire relations. Including the introduction of those damned free blood clinics staffed by “Volunteers” so that incidents of attacks on both sides were minimised.

But when he had been turned over seventy years previously, it was all different. Vampires were BAD, Scary BAD, lose your Soul BAD and decent people avoided them like they were sent from the fiery pits of Hell and the Devil himself.  
All of that was utter crap because Captain Steven Grant Rodgers was the epitome of America’s righteous golden boy. He had fought for the Good, or at least the ones he thought had right on their side, he fucking hated bullies with a disturbingly rabid intensity and just happened to be a 300 year old Vamp. Not that the Public knew it at the time.  
The Press loved Captain America, loved their portrait of a Chaste Boyish Handsome Hero of the American People.

The first time Bucky had become aware of that monument to the folly of gullible and insane humans had been when his Sire had been balls deep in his ass and one of the more enterprising (annoying) members of the Army Press Corps had managed to get into their tent. Bucky blamed Duggan. Totally blamed Duggan. He always blamed Duggan because somehow or other it was always Duggan’s god damn fault.  The bowler hatted bastard was supposed to be on guard duty. But Dum Dum and his evil sense of humour always threw them a curve ball.  
  
The damned idiot reporter had stood there immobile for long seconds as if he had been hit over the head with Stevie’s shield, gaping like a fish out of water before he had the gall to tell Stevie that his behaviour was un-American, rant about how bad this was going to be for the morale of the fighting men, sneer that his report in the Daily Bugle would see him blue slipped from the Army for his sexual deviancy and in Bucky’s humble and eternally grateful opinion the best part of the kid’s nonsensical diatribe, scream that Cap was supposed to be a damn Virgin.  
   
The kid “call me J. Jonah Jameson” could thank whatever Deity he believed in that Cap was stuck where he was. Bucky had clenched down hard because he was selfish that way. Stevie was too much of Gentleman to just rip himself away, beside he knew Cap was still enjoying himself, he had the unrelenting hard proof in his ass. There was also the fact that Bucky also didn’t want to have to clean up a mess of blood in the tent if Cap ripped the little shit’s head off.  
God damn it they were in the middle of something. The reporter was just downright rude.  
   
Cap had let out an involuntary groan of appreciation at Bucky’s actions whilst J Jonah Jameson had flushed redder than a sunset over Coney Island in the middle of summer.  
There had been an ominous silence as the Cap had starred at him with disbelief and rising ire (his cock had still been doing its own rising and contributing to Bucky’s fighting man’s morale thank you very much even while Cap was glaring with menaces at the unwelcome intruder) until Bucky had finally bellowed “Farnsworth” before Cap just decided to shred the little shit and be done with it.

The dapper Englishman had appeared so suddenly Bucky had the sneaking suspicion the rest of the Commandos were just outside enjoying themselves eavesdropping.

Farnsworth had taken one look at the entangled naked pair “Dear Lord really Steven, James, must you fornicate in the middle of the afternoon? Do think of the impression you are making on the Kiss” He had scolded lightly in a drawl, which emphasised that crystal cut accent then focused his intense eyes on the enraged blustering young reporter.  
“And as for you young man. That moustache is in seriously bad taste. Do you know how many times the Good Captain has had to punch Hitler? Now come with me and we will remove both the delightful images from your mind and that awful facial decoration.”

J Jonah Jameson protested vehemently as he was lead inexorably from the tent but he was no match for a vampire, even a polite English Aristocratic one.  
Sometime later the young clean shaven reporter found himself in the arms and bed of an enthusiastic young Belgian woman who seemed to be in charge of a rather risqué household and with whom he had apparently been exceedingly friendly all week as he was reassured constantly by her companions. The rather large gap in his memory was worrying but the ladies did make him exceedingly welcome, and he thought he could put off his assigned task to beard Captain America in his den with his team for his editor at the Daily Bugle until he wore out said welcome.

There was a war on after all. J Jonah Jameson had no intention of dying a Virgin even if the Saintly Captain America had to be upheld to a higher standard.  
  
Therefore pious and virtuous were not part of the Captain’s psyche, seriously a 300 year old virgin vampire? How the hell the press thought anyone would believe that he would never know, but never let it be said that truth spoilt a good news story. The myth had persisted to Bucky’s immense amusement and Stevie’s growing irritation.  Must be his Sire’s habit of wide eyed disbelief when he was complimented. That little trait had got the guy laid more often than Bucky and that was saying something. Because Bucky was a joyous sex addict (of course the blood addiction came first). Sex was fucking awesome and pun fully intended. Bucky’s long haired black eye lined bad boy Vamp image soaked more panties and boxers than an industrial laundrette.  
  
But his damn Sire was good through to the bone marrow. Not that Bucky was sure they had any bone marrow left but Stevie had a core of inflexible goodness running through him as strong as the vibranium in that shield that insane Vamp Howard Stark had created for him years ago at the start of the Second World War.

  
So once upon a time Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes had joined the war effort, done his initial basic training, got deployed to Europe to fight them nasty Nazis and ended up with an life enhancing addiction to blood, a Purple Heart and disowned from his own family because according to the Church he didn’t have a soul any more.  

It happened like this. Bucky had parachuted over enemies lines, only the fucking chute was fucking faulty (and if he survived he was going back to dismember the fucking moron who had packed the damn thing), then he proceeded to bounce painfully down a big ass mountain, in the process, breaking most all of the bones in his body and nearly losing his life when he came to a terminal crumpled stop like a human version of jello.  
  
Finally as he was about to shuffle off his own mortal coil like the broken human he was, he had looked up one last time to see the blue sky, only physically able to raise his eyes because the rest of his body had no bones attached to anything to get the traction to move and instead found himself staring into concerned cornflower blue eyes. They were brighter than the actual sky and framed by shining fair hair that was lit like a halo from the sun striking the snow behind the looming figure. Angel.  It had to be an Angel. Well that just fucking iced his cake for him. No way was he surviving this. He had a fucking Angel waiting to see his last breath.

Damn Bucky was a sucker for the pretty ones, male or female and Sweet Baby Jesus this one was gorgeous. Dying with that adorable face as the last thing he would ever see was almost a fair trade off.  Almost. He still wouldn’t turn down an offer to live.  
The pain in his body seemed to recede as he gave the Adorable one a sweet smile.  
“Doll you sure are sight for sore eyes” he sighed out. “So pretty” he slurred as his eyes began to close for the final time.

His blonde Angel seemed angry and he was shouting something that Bucky had a hard time deciphering but the tone forced Bucky to open his eyes and focus again, “S’alright Doll, don’t you worry none” he tried to reassure the Angel but the Angel just kept repeating the same words “God damn it Punk give me permission. Say Yes, Say Yes, Say Yes”.

Bucky’s eyes widened a little with shock. Did that fucking Angel just call him a Nancy boy? Where he came from Punk was slang for an effeminate homosexual man, or the younger partner in a homosexual relationship.  
Fair enough, the Angel wasn’t actually wrong. Bucky had lots of friends in Mills House No 1 on Bleeker Street. But James Buchanan Barnes had always liked both the Ladies and the Gents so he wasn’t a typical “punk”. He didn’t know what the defining word for his kind was and he didn’t really care.  
It just gave him twice the opportunity to spread the some excellent Barnes goodness and get some proper loving back. But it stood to reason an Angel would know about his preferences.  
The more he thought about them, the more the Angel’s words made Bucky want to laugh despite the agony his poor destroyed body was suffering. (Set the tone for their future relationship. Stevie was always making him laugh even when he didn’t mean to!)  
  
Bucky smiled his trade mark “love ‘em and leave ‘em” smile, he really didn’t want to leave this intriguing funny Angel but he reckoned he had no choice, and maybe if he was lucky he would get to see him again up in the afterlife. He didn’t think he was going to Heaven per se but he knew he hadn’t done anything evil enough for Hell. Seriously why would God be bothered about blowjobs in a back alley when the world was in such a shit state?  
So his face lit up and there was utter conviction in his voice as he exhaled the last words he spoke while he still had a human heartbeat. “It’ll always be a Yes for you Doll, until the end of the line”.

His eyes began to close as he watched the delightful flush of pink that flew into the Angel’s cheeks, then they widened again with disbelief as he saw that determined mouth smirk once and then come nearer and nearer until it opened wide and fangs dropped down.  
What the actual hell? The Angel was gonna bite him? Were they supposed to do that? Were they allowed to do that? Biting and Angels seemed a strange kinda mix. They had swords to smite the unholy didn’t they?  Maybe the war shortage of metal was affecting the heavenly host too?  
He was losing what was left of his mind but seriously biting?  
He was pretty sure he had never read that in the bible stories in Sunday school. Well fuck a duck Buck. The Angel was going kill him with his teeth. What a weird ass end to his existence!

So Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th Infantry division, elder brother to three sisters, only son of a widowed mother, good catholic boy, serial skirt and pants chaser in his spare time, best damn sniper in the whole of the 107th died as a beautiful Angel bit him and then woke up again as the Vampire Child of Captain Steven Grant Rogers and a member of his immortal War Kiss, the Howling Commandos.  
   
Of course once the shock was over and Bucky’s asshole personality shone through as bright at the noon day sun, Bucky couldn’t resist asking the only question bothering him at that moment.  
The good Captain, his immortal Sire, had stared at him in disbelief as Buck had asked why a bunch of blood sucker Soldiers were named after the noise made by horny dogs  
.  
Amidst snorts of amusement from the other members of the War Kiss, the Captain had rolled his eyes and spoken with fond exasperation when he told Bucky that there was no way in hell he was gonna lead a group of Vamps called the Hissing Commandos.  
Bucky had laughed so hard that if his lungs worked they would have collapsed.

 

Bucky glared at his Sire, “Barney James Stevie, seriously?” he sniped as he waved the fake ID in his face. Stevie just grinned unrepentantly at his best guy. “It’s that or the flannel Buck, take your pick” he snarked right back at him. Bucky put his flesh hand protectively over the cornflower blue silk shirt that matched Stevie’s eyes perfectly. “Change this shirt and I will kick your ass Punk”, then he smirked. “I am sure Sammy will appreciate this more than the flannel darling”.

Bucky’s mood improved as he followed the delectable ass of one beautifully blushing Roger Grant out of their apartment. Even after all these years, he still couldn’t figure out how a fucking Vampire could blush without any proper blood flow. It must be a Stevie thing not a vamp thing.

The Cap was trying to be noble again with his stated aim of meeting his Sam normally at the Clinic. Bucky had given him an old fashioned look and asked if he was turning into a hormonal teenager but he had been pointedly ignored.  
Just as well that Bucky had never claimed to be noble, and there was no way that he was allowing Stevie to fuck this up because he was crushing on the human so hard. He hadn’t really behaved this way since that cluster fuck with Peggy Carter and that had not gone well…  
  
So he had dealt with it. Coulson might be a bad ass human but if he ever wanted sexy times with his Werewolf again without the Soldier sitting in and commenting on techniques, grading the shapes and prettiness of their combined genitalia and slapping the delightful asses involved then he was going to make sure Sam Wilson was Stevie’s nominated volunteer for ever.  
  
He had got his way even if for the following two weeks he had been dodging exploding arrows and bags of flour. His Sire was worth it. But Clint had settled down once Bucky had passed on a tip about a tongue technique he had learnt from an incredibly flexible Turkish masseur in Manhattan.  Coulson’s expression for two days following Clint actually using that tip was indescribable but it was Stevie’s concerned questioning that put the icing on the cake. He had never seen the bland bureaucrat blush so beautifully.

The way Stevie’s eyes lit up when it was Sam Wilson who came to the reception to lead him to the donation suites made Buck feel strangely sad but insanely happy at the same time. Undercover assessment his fine Brooklyn born ass. Wilson had been stuck dumb with arousal as he raised his head over his clipboard and stared at the manly gloriousness of his Sire. If those two weren’t destined Blood Mates then he would eat his own damn metal thumb.

Bucky could only blame his distraction on the overabundance of pheromones in the air and the sappy looks on Stevie’s and Sam’s face for his failure to notice his own volunteer bouncing impatiently to the side.

Bucky turned to the kid, he had to be a kid because Bucky could feel the energy fizzing through his blood which was common in teenagers. Not so much Adults and the rules said only those over 21 could volunteer at the Clinics. If this was a stupid kid wanting to get his rocks off illegally then Bucky was gonna nail Coulson’s delectable ass to the wall with one of Clint’s own arrows. He wasn’t reassured as he took in the expensive Italian shoes and designer casual clothes. Bored rich kid huh? Then Bucky looked down into that expressive beautiful face and felt his stomach drop, much the same way it had when he was falling down that fucking mountain. Brown curls rioted messily despite attempts to tame them.  
Glorious whisky amber eyes stared entranced into his own silver and were a perfect complement to the olive hue of the kid’s skin. Bucky’s flesh hand raised and his thumb gently so gently stroked the soft fluff on the kid’s chin that he was trying to grow into a goatee. Bucky tore his eyes away from the enchanting view before him to glare at Coulson behind the reception desk. He raised one eyebrow menacingly and Coulson rolled his eyes as he nodded. So the kid was legal then. Coulson was dismissed from his mind as unimportant as he returned his attention to beautiful boy in front of him

The kid swallowed, his tongue wiped instinctively over those perfect lips, his cheeks flushed, his heartbeat was pounding and his scent sweetened with arousal as he stuttered out the standard greeting.

“Hi I’m Tony, I am your volunteer today”

James Buchanan Barnes smiled gently at the kid. For fuck’s sake. Stevie was gonna laugh his ridiculous blood sucking ass off. For fucking days. He would never live this down. Then the jerk would give him a lecture on cradle snatching his destined blood mate. But Bucky didn’t care. None of that mattered as he spoke his first words to the kid. Bucky Barnes had always been a sucker for the pretty ones.

“Doll you sure are sight for sore eyes “.

**Author's Note:**

> No infringement intended even if Marvel did think Captain America was a horny centuries old vampire.
> 
> This was only supposed to be an exercise in breaking my writers block and 6k+ words later here we are. I was re-reading some of my stuff and came across the Vampire prompt again. Thought I would try to be more consistent with that the second time. Not sure if it worked or not. It was not supposed to be serious, mainly tongue in cheek but it ended edging towards angst and comfort again. Still mostly supposed to be funny.
> 
> I also did more research than normal. Yes fell down that rabbit hole and found out some fascinating facts about homosexuality before and during the Second World War and included some of that in the story.  
> 1\. The use of the word Punk. Basically Bucky called Steve the forties equivalent of a twink in the films. 
> 
> Punk generally denoted a physically slighter youth who let himself be used sexually by an older and more powerful man, the wolf, in exchange for money, protection, or other forms of support.  
> From George Chauncey’s Gay New York: Gender, Urban Culture, and the Making of the Gay Male World, 1890-1940, page 88
> 
>  
> 
> 2\. Nancy boy. War time term for effeminate man or homosexual. Of course being a Nancy boy was supposedly incompatible with being brave and fighting for your country. 
> 
> 3\. Mills House No1. Found this information about 150 years of LGBT history from the NYC Landmarks Preservation Commission. This is what it had to say about Mills House  
> All-male housing accommodations created by 19th-century New York reformers to provide low-cost housing for working men were also, according to Chauncey, “major centers for the gay world and served to introduce men to gay life.” That Mills House No. 1 156 Bleecker Street, with its hundreds of clean small rooms, restaurant, and lounges became a favored abode for working-class gay men is suggested by the frequency in which men arrested on homosexual charges listed it as their residence at the magistrate’s courts. It continued as a men’s hotel, known after 1949 as the Greenwich Hotel, until the 1970s.
> 
> 4\. Blue Slipped out of the Army. This was the slang term for being dishonourably discharged from the American Forces for being Gay. 
> 
>  
> 
> History lesson over. I am not commenting on the issues because if I started my rant would be longer than the damn story and I need to get some sleep now. Except to say, please treat others as you wish to be treated. Does anyone seriously want to be discriminated against for any reason whatsoever? 
> 
> Hope you enjoy the story. As of now it’s complete. I have lots of other WiPs that need to be finished.


End file.
